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by emeraldorchids
Summary: Miranda's back injury throws a wrench into everyone's plans, especially those of her assistant, Andrea. (Miranda POV)
1. Chapter 1

Today was like any other day, at least from where I was seated. No one was ready, the skirts from Calvin Klein were the wrong shade, and my coffee was missing in action for the second time this morning.

"Miranda, Roy is downstairs," Andrea called from my doorway.

I looked up at her, and my confusion must have been evident, because clarified and said that my appointment with Raul (my massage therapist) was in twenty minutes. I nodded, closed the folder with the budget on my desk, and headed for the elevators.

It had been nearly a month since I last saw Raul. With all the traveling for various shows the past few weeks, I wasn't able to get to the club for tennis or yoga—I didn't even have time to run on the treadmill at home. And my body is certainly feeling it. I was especially grateful that Andrea scheduled an extra-long block of time with him today.

"I've missed you, beautiful. Have you been cheating on me?" Raul asked as I walked into the spa.

I chuckled and exchanged air-kisses with him, all while reassuring him that I had simply been busy and hadn't had the time to come by. "There is no one who can do what you do for me," I said.

"Why don't we do a full body today, then? Go get into a towel, then relax in the sauna or steam room to loosen your muscles, then I will make you feel like you are eighteen again," he said with a wink.

If I wasn't so indebted to him, I would be annoyed at the way he talks to me; however, I learned years ago that I need him, and I need him every two weeks.

Sitting in the sauna, I found it difficult to relax. I kept thinking of work, things I needed to tell Andrea. It seemed a little ridiculous to bring her here with me, but maybe she could get a massage, too, and we could get some work done.

"Miranda, you need to relax. Whatever you are thinking about, let it go," Raul said. "Breathe with me. In, in, in, and out, out, out. Is there anything that has been bothering you recently?"

"My back is a little sore in the morning when I get out of bed. I suppose I need a new mattress or something." Or, I need to stop wearing shoes that do wonders for my ass but sabotage my posture, I thought.

While Raul worked his magic on my aching muscles, I decided that I need to have Andrea work more 'me' time into my schedule. Maybe a long weekend in Maine, or a few days in St Barths. It would have to be while the girls were with their father, but seeing as they were spending most of the summer with him or their grandparents or other aunts and uncles, that shouldn't be difficult.

"How is that?" Raul asked, bringing me back to the present.

"Finished already?" I asked as I pushed myself up on to my elbows. "I could have let you do that all day."

"Not good for your muscles. Here, let me help you up," he said, holding his hand out.

I carefully sat up and wrapped the towel around me, taking his hand as I climbed off the table. I took one step towards the dressing room and froze as a pain shot through my spine.

I held my breath, willing the pain to go away, but it wouldn't. I tried to straighten up, but the pain was worse. I pressed my palm into the table, trying to take pressure off my back, but it did very little to relieve the pain. Taking another step, I had to swallow the bile in my throat.

"Miranda, what is it?" Raul asked.

"My back. I don't know what happened," she said.

He gently placed his hands on my lower back and applied pressure to various areas, but it didn't provide any relief. He tried to help me back to the dressing room, but I was frozen in place, panting because the pain was so bad.

I hadn't even realized that my towel had fallen to the ground. Raul wrapped a fresh one around me and secured it with a clip. "What can I do for you? Is there someone I can call?"

"Andrea, my assistant. Call her."

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...to be continued

Note: this is definitely a longer continuing story...once again a fragment found on my computer that i am resuscitating. sorry to be such a tease (:-P), but i promise the next chapters will be longer.


	2. Chapter 2

Raul left the room and I tried unsuccessfully to climb back onto the table. I fell to my knees. The searing pain in my spine was completely crippling me. I was nauseous and couldn't see straight. The room was spinning. I rolled onto my side and grunted, making the least feminine sound I have ever made in my entire life. I didn't want to move from this spot.

Andrea wasn't sure what to do when she got the call. She phoned Miranda's doctor's office and they said she would need to be seen before they could prescribe anything. Until then, they advised rest, an over-the-counter muscle relaxant, and alternating heat and ice.

When Andrea arrived, I was feeling a little bit better, but I was afraid to move from the spot on the floor. Raul offered to lift me back onto the table or a chair, but seeing that I was finally able to take a deep breath and not feel sick to my stomach from the pain, I decided to stay put for a while longer.

How did I injure my back, I thought to myself. I wasn't doing anything strenuous. I hadn't lifted anything heavier than a shopping bag in the past few weeks. In fact, I spent most of my days sitting in very expensive Herman Miller chair, known for its superior ergonomics in a sleek design.

Before my thoughts went much further, Andrea sat on the ground next to me. "Your doctor wants to see you. I've arranged for him to make a house call, that is, if you will be able to make it home. Otherwise, you will need to go to the emergency room," she said. She whispered something to Raul and he quickly returned with an ice pack.

"I'm going to put some ice on your back to see if that helps the pain. Hopefully this will help enough to get you up off the floor," she added. "How's this?"

I shook my head. The pain was about eight inches lower.

"Here?"

"No. Lower," I choked out.

She applied the ice to the lowest part of my back and I gasped. She held it there for a few minutes, and I was extremely grateful that after nine months, the girl learned to keep quiet. Had she asked me if I could move, I would have bitten her head off. It would not have been pretty.

"Is the ice helping at all? Can you feel the cold?" she asked quietly after about five minutes.

"I don't know," I said.

She stood for a minute, then returned. "I'm going to help get some pants on you. I think this towel is too thick and you're not getting the benefit of the ice," she explained.

Before I could protest, I felt her carefully slipping my feet through a pair of cotton pants. She slid them up to my upper thigh, then paused. "Can you—?" she hesitated.

I reached down and once again felt a shooting, searing pain in my spine. "Aaagh," I grunted, quickly pressing myself up and onto all fours. Andrea reached around and secured the drawstring waist while I struggled to catch my breath.

"I brought a black zip-up jacket—do you need help with this?" she asked, holding the offending garment out.

" _Athleisure_ , Andrea?" I asked, rolling my eyes.

She sighed and smiled. "You don't know how happy I am to hear you say that. I was worried for a minute," she said with a chuckle. "But yes, this is athleisure and will be perfectly acceptable attire to wear when exiting your health club to return home," she said, back to being all business.

I tried pushing myself up to my knees, but the angle was all wrong and pain shot through my back again. She must have seen my struggle, because I felt her gently supporting under my arms, helping me to stand on my feet without changing the bend in my back.

"I'll just step outside for a minute," she said, leaving the jacket on the table beside me.

I quickly unclasped the towel and let it drop to the ground. It was a bit of a challenge to get my left arm inside the jacket, but I managed, and when she walked in, I was just zipping it up.

"Here," she said as she set a pair of slip-on athletic shoes at the ground by my feet. "Will you be able to walk out of here?"

"I think so," I said, stepping into the shoes. The pain hadn't really gone away, and it's not that one position or another was any more or less painful. Somehow, I just managed to deal with it enough to leave the building in a semi-respectable state.

I was grateful that the club had a secured, indoor parking facility. After slowly making my way to the car, leaning heavily on Andrea's offered arm, I realized that getting into the backseat of the car would be torturous. Andrea must have seen my concern, because she suggested that I sit in the front seat if it would be easier.

I considered it, but knowing the ride to the townhouse could be over thirty minutes with rush hour traffic, I knew it would be more difficult to reposition myself if I were in the front seat. I stood there, staring at the back seat, trying to imagine how I would get inside without too much additional pain.

"You were okay on your hands and knees, right?" Andrea asked. I nodded, and she quickly climbed into the back seat and reached out her hand. "Come on," she said.

I took a deep breath and reached for her hand, surprised at her strength. I was able to climb onto the backseat without too much difficulty. She slid across the seat to allow me more room, and were it not for the shooting pains, I would have thought more of the sudden nearness to the young woman.

"Do you have any pain pills at home?" Andrea asked.

"Yes. I don't know how old they are or what the dosage is, but they're in the upstairs closet, in a plastic storage container on the top shelf," I explained. "I don't think I will be able to make it upstairs."

"Would you rather go to the emergency room now?" she asked.

I shook my head. I wanted to go home, even if it meant writhing on the cold marble floor of the foyer. That gave me an idea. I twisted around in the backseat so I was laying on my back, my knees tucked up into my chest.

"Does that feel better?" Andrea asked.

"A little," I said, biting my lip to keep from grunting. My eyes fluttered open and I looked up into the sincerest brown eyes I had ever seen. In the flurry of activity, I didn't realize that my head was in her lap. "I'm sorry," I whispered, turning my head to the side and closing my eyes.

I felt her hand rest gently on my shoulder.

"Don't apologize. I wish there was something I could do to relieve your pain," she said, gently squeezing my arm.

We rode the rest of the way to the townhouse in silence, my head resting in her lap. I think we were both holding our breath, albeit for different reasons. She was wearing a short skirt, and her lap was radiating heat—that alone was enough to distract me from the throbbing in my lower back. When the car came to a stop in front of the townhouse, I heard her ask Roy if he could pull around to the garage in the rear just to be safe. She was always thinking of me—and I so appreciated that.

Turns out, it was more difficult to get out of the car than it had been getting in. But once I was on my feet, I made it through the garage and up the stairs into the house without too much pain.

Standing there in my living room, I felt a bit lost. I was always _doing_ something, and my location was usually dependent on whatever it is that I was doing. Going over the book meant sitting at my chair in the corner. Reading the newspaper was an activity performed at the kitchen island. Watching something on the television screen put me in my corner of the leather sectional. But now, the only thing I had to do was deal with the pain pulsating through my back. And I hadn't ever done that before, so I couldn't figure out where I should be.

 _Enter Andrea_. She set my bags in the foyer, then gently took my arm, pulling me from my thoughts. "Do you want to go upstairs and lay in bed? Or maybe a hot bath?" she asked. She must have seen my grimace at the suggestion of a bath, so she quickly added, "Or maybe you can lay on the sofa here with some ice?"

I nodded and walked over to the sofa, trying to determine the best position. I finally bit the bullet and sat down, holding my breath as I moved into a position that was not entirely uncomfortable—laying on my back with my legs up and draped over the high arm of the couch.

Once I was settled, I again felt the young woman staring at me with those sincere eyes.

"Stop looking at me," I muttered.

"Your eyes are closed! How can you even—?"

I grinned and heard Andrea laugh. I released the breath I had been holding. I liked the sound of her laugh, even her voice. There must be something about the tone—her unique timbre—that had a calming effect on my nervous system. There was really no other explanation for my unusual tolerance of her incessant chatter, and now the laughter—there had to be a scientific explanation.

"Keep talking to me," I heard myself say. I quickly bit my lip and feigned a bit of pain to hide my surprise at speaking those words aloud. I suddenly panicked—I hadn't said anything else aloud, had I? The rest of my thoughts evaporated as soon as she began to speak. She picked up the _Times_ from the coffee table and began reading. It didn't matter that I had already read that story eight hours ago, her voice was a balm.

The next thing I knew, the doorbell chimed, and Andrea was walking a middle-aged man into my living room.

"Miranda, I'm Dr. Joseph Haller. I specialize in osteopathic medicine; I work with your physician Dr. Stevens, who called me earlier. Can you describe the pain?"

"I must have fallen asleep," I said, shaking my head. I twisted around to sit up and shake Dr. Haller's hand, but the pain in my back took my breath away.

"Can you show me where you're feeling that?" he said.

I pointed to an area on my lower back, in the center of my spine.

"I'm going to ask you to do a few different movements. I need to know if the pain lessens or worsens with any of this, or if it moves," he explained as he held his hand over the spot.

I nodded and took a deep breath as he asked me to lift my legs, bend, and twist in various positions. He commented on my flexibility and I had the good sense to keep my mouth shut and refrain from making a snide remark. However, my good sense failed when I glanced over at Andrea and saw the pinkness in her cheeks.

I should have been outraged that my employee was thinking about my certain flexibility, but her cheeks were the loveliest shade of coral I have ever seen. I knew that shades like that only occurred in nature, despite the entire makeup industry's attempts to capture that particular hue. I wanted nothing more than to touch my finger to those cheeks, to feel the heat beneath the skin. Would it be the same heat I felt in her lap?

"Aah!" I yelped. I don't know if I was just distracted or if the doctor's movement was actually painful, but nonetheless, it took my mind off of Andrea Sachs and her sex-flushed cheeks. I chuckled to myself—Nars should have me name their shades of blush.

"Miranda, without an MRI, I think this is discographic pain you're experiencing. Between each vertebrae, there is a disc that essentially acts as a cushion between the bones. When this disc becomes inflamed or damaged, it can press against the nerves, which typically causes a shooting or throbbing pain," he said.

"What is the treatment?" I asked.

"Rest—a lot of it, with ice. Then some physical therapy to strengthen your core muscles and help prevent future issues," he said.

"No medication?"

"I can give you some medication for the pain, but it will not help you heal any quicker. It will only make you more comfortable. I've seen patients rely too heavily on the pain medication, and actually injure themselves further because they didn't feel the pain, signaling them to rest," he said.

I rolled my eyes.

"For you, because you asked so nicely, I am going to give you some strong muscle relaxants and pain medication—I want you to take these every six hours for the next two days. After that, only use the pain medication as needed."

I am not sure where Joseph Haller got the audacity to speak to me like that, but the promise of medicated relief made me ignore his words. I waited impatiently for him to write the prescription on his pad. When he was finished, Andrea showed him out and returned to the living room where I was sitting.

"I can go get this filled for you," she said.

I handed over slip of paper and tried to think of anything besides that shade of pink on her cheeks that had now faded. "My insurance cards are probably upstairs in my desk drawer," I said before she left.

She turned her head and looked at me in confusion.

"I don't carry them with me every day."

"I know that," she said. "I have an electronic copy of your card on my phone—all of your cards, actually."

"Oh." I was stunned. My assistants really did that? "Well, I don't know why you're standing here, then. Go," I said, waving her off with a flick of my wrist.

Once I heard the door close behind her, I stood from the couch, tentatively stretching my back to see what would or wouldn't be painful. There was a constant throbbing, but it was tolerable—nothing like what I experienced earlier at the club. I wanted to change out of this athleisure clothing, so I began to head upstairs. Andrea would certainly be able to find me when she returned, and by then, I might even be back downstairs.

I was about halfway up the first flight of stairs when I felt it—a searing, precise pain in the center of my spine. I fell to my knees. I couldn't breathe—the pain had literally taken my breath away. I sat perfectly still for several minutes until I was able to take a deep breath. Actually, I wasn't seated, maybe _sprawled_ across the stairs was a better way to describe it. Carefully, I pushed myself up, only to fall to the stairs once again, grateful for once that the first flight of stairs were carpeted.

I was only about six stairs from the second floor. If I could only make my way there, I could at least lay flat, maybe rest enough to get back up. My body wasn't cooperating. I decided to close my eyes and count to twenty, then I would try again.

Finally, I bit the proverbial bullet and pushed through the pain, making my way to the second floor and over to the chair in the hallway. Well, not actually to the chair. To the floor in front of the chair, to be precise. I had worked up a sweat through all the struggle, so I partially unzipped the jacket and cuffed up the sleeves as I looked longingly down the hall at my bedroom door.

Before I could settle on a course of action, I heard the front door open. "Miranda?" she called.

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TBC - let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

I didn't want her to see me like this. It was bad enough that I needed her help getting home from the health club, but to need her help getting off my hall floor would be utterly humiliating. Maybe if I just stayed perfectly still she would leave, I thought.

"Miranda? Where—" I heard her gasp. Under different circumstances, that sudden intake of air could have been accompanied by that beautiful sex-flush. Jesus, what was wrong with me?

I quickly cleared my head as I heard her footsteps approach. "I needed to rest for a few minutes," I explained. "I was going to my bedroom to change clothes."

I didn't look over at her, but she must have bent down next to me, because I felt her hands reaching under my arms.

"Stop," I said. "Stop. You need to leave. I have been humiliated enough for one day," I said as I pushed myself onto my knees, biting my lip to keep from shouting in pain.

"I'm helping you," she said, linking her arms under mine and lifting me to my feet.

I flung my arms around, trying to break free from her grip, but she held firmly. Between unzipping the jacket and my recent movements, my left breast was completely exposed. I quickly reached down and zipped the jacket back up. I knew my face must have been beet red, but I couldn't look up at her after that.

"Andrea, take your arms off of me," I said quietly, knowing that it was my quietest voice that instilled the most fear. It must have worked, because I felt her grip loosen, and I quickly ran down the hall and into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me, and locking it just in case.

I proceeded to my bathroom, where I immediately headed towards the toilet, vomiting from the intense pain. Never mind that bending over a toilet and retching actually made the pain worse in my back.

When my stomach calmed, I took the jacket off. Because the pants were extremely loose, I only had to untie the drawstring to release them to the floor. Having been interrupted before leaving the health club, I didn't get to shower after the treatment, so I carefully stepped into my shower, and using the massage wand, I was able to rinse off.

I felt better already. My heart had stopped racing, and my back pain was manageable—well, maybe that wasn't the right word. It was less severe than before.

I selected a soft cotton jersey camisole and shorts from my dresser, and pair of nude briefs, but when I went to bend over and put them on, that sharp, piercing pain reappeared, restricting my movement. Instead of the cotton jersey, I pulled a short silk chemise from my drawer with matching underwear that tied at the hips. Who would have thought this rather sexy lingerie would be of use when I was nearly helpless to dress myself?

Thinking of sex reminded me of Andrea and her flushed cheeks. What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall of her bedroom. I imagine she is a thing of beauty when she comes undone. Since the young woman was likely still in the house somewhere, I also grabbed the matching silk robe and tied it around myself, knotting the sash to be safe and hopefully prevent any future slips.

I unlocked the door—but kept it closed—before making my way to my bed. Since a seated position was probably the most uncomfortable for me at the moment, I crawled onto the bed and laid on my stomach, stretched out horizontally across the mattress. It didn't feel terrible, but the arch in my back was uncomfortable, so I grabbed a pillow and placed it beneath my hips.

I sighed, audibly, in relief. For a moment, if I didn't move a muscle, I felt…normal. My relief was interrupted by a knock at my door.

"Miranda? I have your medication, a glass of water, and some ice. Can I come in?"

"It's open," I said. I clearly hadn't thought this through, because my ass, elevated on a pillow and clad only in my short robe and barely-there silk bottoms, was facing the doorway. And I have no doubt that she noticed.

In fact, she probably blushed again—and I missed it.

I needed to control myself. I don't know what has gotten into me. I never thought of Andrea sexually before today, and even just saying it aloud in my head—what did I want from her? It's not like I am a lesbian, but my god Joan Rivers would turn over in her grave if I ever did come out of the closet. I took a deep breath and forced thoughts of her flushed cheeks out of my mind for good.

"Miranda?" Her voice sounded inches from my ear.

I blinked my eyes open, and saw that concerned look on her face. My god, I hoped I hadn't said anything while she was standing here.

"I have your medication," she said quietly, motioning to the tray on the bed next to me.

"Give me a minute—and look the other way," I said, knowing I would need to slither ungracefully off of the bed. She turned, and I did just that. At least the pain was tolerable. "Okay," I said, clearing my throat.

She held out a small cup with two pills and a glass of flat water. I swallowed, and finished the glass of water. She handed me an ice pack in exchange for the empty glass. It was one that you fasten around your body so it stays put. I put it in place, then took a deep breath and crawled back onto the bed, this time laying on my side and bringing my knees to my chest, stuffing a pillow between my knees like I used to when I was pregnant.

"Would you like a blanket or anything?" she asked.

"There's a light blanket in the trunk under the window," I said, pointing in the general direction. "The gray one."

She returned with the blanket, carefully draping it over me, then she picked up the tray and began to exit the room. "I'll be back later tonight with the Book, and it will be time to take your second dose of medication. Your cell phone is on the bed—in silent mode—if you need anything at all," she said.

I was surprised that she was leaving, but then again, maybe not so surprised. She did, after all, have a job that involved keeping my office running smoothly. Ever since Paris, it has been a dream. I hardly noticed when Emily left, and even the new second assistant was on the ball. I knew that would be no small feat, so Andrea surely had a lot of work waiting for her, least of all things, rearranging my schedule to accommodate the sudden incapacitation.

I closed my eyes as exhaustion from the afternoon began to set in. Or maybe it was the medication. Either way, it wasn't often that I had the opportunity to spend a Tuesday afternoon napping in bed, so I eagerly succumbed.

When I woke some time later, I felt as though I had been sleeping for days. I know I hadn't been paying enough attention to my own needs, but I never thought it would get this far, landing me in bed in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon.

I pushed myself up and immediately fell back into the pillows, overcome with a dizziness I hadn't felt before. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and tried again. I was able to push myself into a seated position, and I was quite relieved that the drugs had kicked in and I no longer felt the pain in my back.

Work would no doubt be piling up for me, even in my brief absence and despite Andrea's best attempts. No matter how hard I tried to get ahead, it always seemed like there was more work than I could ever manage. I climbed out of bed and headed to my closet to change into something more appropriate now that I could bend over, but out of nowhere, the room seemed to spin. I tried to focus on the door to my closet, but it felt as thought I couldn't even control my eyes.

I reached out for the dresser to steady myself and suddenly had the feeling that I was falling through the air—and then everything went black.

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TBC and let me know what you think so far!


	4. Chapter 4

I opened my eyes, only to find darkness. I wasn't entirely sure that I was awake and conscious—in fact, I hoped that I wasn't. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see that I was on the floor of my bedroom, but strangely, I couldn't move. My limbs felt as though they were weighted down, pinned to the ground by an invisible force. My eyelids fell closed as I once again succumbed to the darkness.

At nearly 10:00 PM that night, the Book was finally ready. Apparently, even though I was out of the office, there were still hundreds of changes in the queue for the team. Andrea hoped that the medication had allowed me some much-needed rest, so she entered the townhouse quietly, and made her way upstairs to my room. She turned on the hall light and cracked the door, surprised when she didn't see me in my bed.

"Miranda?" she called, turning the bedroom light on. I heard her gasp.

"Andrea," I whispered. I still couldn't move.

She hurried to my side, and I could feel her hands on my arms, my cheek.

"Oh my god! You're bleeding. What happened?" she asked. "Or you _were_ bleeding. Do you need me to call 911?"

"No," I managed to say.

"I'm getting a towel," she said, running into my bathroom and coming back with a damp cloth and a dry towel. She knelt next to me and dabbed the towel on my forehead. "How long have you been here like this?" she asked.

The blood must have clotted, I thought to myself. That means I'm not dying, not bleeding out, as they say. I opened my mouth to speak, but the words weren't there. I felt tears on my cheeks and were shocked to find they were my own.

Andrea held the wet cloth to my temple, applying pressure to the wound. I would have done that, had I been able to move my arms.

"It's going to be okay. You're going to be fine. It's just a small cut, and it looks like the bleeding has stopped," she said. Once the dried blood was mostly cleaned up, she put the towels aside. "Can I help you up and back to the bed?"

I closed my eyes and nodded, but as I tried to push myself up, I realized I still had little control of my limbs. "I can hardly move," I whispered.

She looked scared, and I tried to ignore that. Instead of panicking, she impressed me—she helped me to roll onto my knees, then she was able to lift me to my feet. Unfortunately I couldn't do much in the way of walking, so she had to awkwardly drag me to the bed and help me up.

I was laying against the pillows, half sitting up. The gray blanket was draped over me, and I felt Andrea sitting next to me, holding an ice pack to my head. "Thank you," I whispered.

She smiled. "Don't worry about it," she said. "I think that muscle relaxer was too strong for you. You probably need to let it work its way out of your system. Can you drink some water?" she asked.

I nodded, and she handed me a glass of water from the nightstand. My hand was shaking as I reached for the glass, and despite my best effort, I couldn't hold the glass. Andrea didn't say a word, silently lifting the glass to my lips and allowing me to take a sip. She repeated this several times, and the cool water felt good on my throat.

Andrea sat next to me, holding the ice to my forehead. The last thing I recall before drifting off to sleep was hearing her quietly making calls, leaving messages to reschedule my appointments for the rest of the week.

When I woke again, the morning light was pouring through the windows. It had to have been at least 5:00 AM. I smiled when I saw Andrea had fallen asleep next to me. I didn't have the heart to wake her, so I picked up my phone and began checking my email and texts.

It wasn't until I sent a message to James, the girls' father, that I realized I could see clearly once again. And I had no difficulty holding my phone or anything like that. When I pushed myself up to sit at the edge of the bed, I again felt the throbbing pain in my back, a sign that the medication did, in fact, work its way through my bloodstream.

"Hey, how is your back this morning? And your head?" Andrea asked sleepily as she sat up herself.

"My back is still sore, and my head is—" I paused and reached up, feeling a swollen, painful spot just at the far side of my left eyebrow "—tender. I don't know what happened. I've never reacted like that to medication," I said.

"I am just glad that it was nothing serious," Andrea said.

I thought about how frightened she looked last night, and how she must have struggled getting me off the floor and into bed. "You didn't have to stay here with me all night. I appreciate it, though."

Andrea shrugged it off. "I'll work from here today, if you don't mind. I just need to stop home to shower and change and grab something to eat," she said. She walked up to my bedside and held out her hand. "Let me help you to the bathroom. When I come back at 9, I can help with your clothes if you need."

I didn't know what to say to her offer, so I just nodded. In truth, I was a little nervous to be alone after what happened last night. My back was sore again this morning, so I knew I would need to take more medication, and with Cara on vacation for the rest of the summer, if something happened to me, it could be days before someone found me.

When I finished doing my business in the bathroom, Andrea helped me back to bed, under the covers this time, and gave me a pain pill before she left. I wanted to tell her she didn't have to go home—that she could use the guest bathroom and she could borrow something from my closet, but I was worried that would appear too needy. She planned to return, and knowing that, I was able to close my eyes and drift off into a deep sleep.

Several hours later, I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder, nudging me awake. "Miranda, you need to take more pain medication. Round the clock for the first two days," she said, handing me one and a half pills and a glass of water.

"What's that half?"

"Your muscle relaxant. I called the doctor back this morning and he said you should take half if it's too strong. It's the lowest dosage they make, but you're small and probably hadn't eaten yesterday," she explained.

I swallowed the pills and finished the glass of water. I was not _small_. Hardly. But I let that slide. "What time is it?"

"About 10:30 AM," Andrea said. "I rearranged your schedule last night, but there's one call I think you will still need to take, if you are feeling up to it."

"Honestly, I can take all of my calls. I don't need—which one couldn't you reschedule?"

Andrea bit her lip. "You and Jonathan have a call with Stephen and his attorney this afternoon. I wanted to check with you before rescheduling."

I sighed. We were supposed to talk about the settlement. Despite our prenuptial agreement, I had been more than willing to help him out with a little alimony until he found someone else. In return, he was not to give any scathing interviews or share any of the more personal details of my life that he was privy to.

"Do you want me to try and reschedule that?" she asked.

"No. Call Jonathan and let him know we will call from here instead of my office," I said. "And do not say a word about my back or anything."

"Oh no, of course not. I never said a thing to anyone," she said. "I hope you know I would never do that to you.

I did know that, but thinking of Stephen always reminded me of Paris, and that unnerved me.

"I understand, though, if you still can't trust me," she said, looking down at the floor. "I'll go call Jonathan."

I felt terrible for letting her walk out without saying a word, but the truth was that I didn't know what would come out of my mouth. I did trust her. Completely. But she thought I didn't, after everything that happened between us. Maybe I was imagining it all.

Andrea left the door open, and she must have been standing somewhere in the hallway or perhaps on the stairs, because I could hear her voice traveling through the house.

"Yes, I'm calling from Miranda Priestly's office. Miranda will not be at Elias-Clarke for her meeting with Jonathan this afternoon. She requests that he come to her home for the call….No, nothing has changed….Yes, thank you."

There really was something about that woman's voice. Or rather, its effect on me: it was comforting. I heard the young woman sigh, and then she began talking again.

"Nate, listen, please. I'm sorry I missed dinner last night—there are just some things that came up….We need to give our landlord 30 days' notice, so we have one more month of rent….I don't care if my name is on the lease! We agreed to split it!….Ugh, Nate you're a real asshole, do you know that?…Stop talking about her like that—you have no right to say those things. You don't know her like I do…"

I knew I shouldn't have been listening to her conversation, but I couldn't help it. From what I gathered, Nate was the young woman's boyfriend, possibly ex-boyfriend. And they were talking about another woman, one who Andrea was defending vehemently. This was more than I wanted to know, but I couldn't stop listening, even if it was going to change the current image I had of the woman.

"Nate, it's my job, you know that….Look, if a fifty-year-old woman makes you this insecure, I think you're the one with the problem….Fine! I'll sell your TV to help with your half of the rent….Stop it. There is nothing like that between us. I don't know how many times I have to tell you. She is not my….Okay, that was _one time_! I am her assistant, my life revolves around her. Of course I say her name often!….Look, we are not having this conversation. Go fuck yourself."

I bit my lip. Surely that couldn't have been about me, right? Why was Andrea's boyfriend accusing her of there being something between her and this other woman? And what happened _one time_ —had she said that name during… Oh god, here came the images of her sex-flushed cheeks again, crying out _my_ name.

She poked her head back into my bedroom and I was still staring at the doorway. "Were you able to contact Jonathan?" I asked.

"Yes. His office confirms he will be here for your call at 4:30," she said.

"Andrea, I couldn't help but hear your last call—"

"Oh god," she said, bringing her hand up to cover her eyes. "How much did you hear?"

"I couldn't make out specifics, but you sounded upset. Is everything alright?"

Andrea frowned. "It will be fine."

"Andrea…"

"I'm not going to bore you with details. My boyfriend and I split a while back, and we're still fighting over stuff," she said.

I let her use of the word _stuff_ slip. "Unfortunately, I understand that all too well," I said, thinking of my call with Stephen and the lawyers this afternoon. "Thank you for staying last night. I am sure you would have rather been elsewhere."

"That's not true. I am glad I stayed."

"Well…" I could feel the medication starting to work. It was difficult to keep my eyes open, and I knew I would be asleep in minutes. "Andrea, I am going to rest for a bit. Would you mind," I took a deep breath, "staying here with me?—in case I have another reaction to the medication?"

"Of course. I might be in and out of your room, but I won't be more than a few feet away," she said.

As I expected, I quickly drifted off to sleep.

.

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TBC - just a short update. let me know if you're liking it so far!


	5. Chapter 5

I didn't wake again until I felt her hand on my shoulder, hours later.

"Miranda, it's 3:15 PM," she said quietly. "Jonathan will be here in an hour."

I yawned and pushed myself up to a seated position. I could hardly believe that I slept all day, but it felt good. My back pain was tolerable, and god knows I needed the rest. I didn't want to think about what didn't get done at the magazine in my absence. Somehow, I knew Andrea was keeping things on track.

She held out her hand and helped me from the bed. My legs felt weak, but the dizziness from last night was gone, and I was able to hold myself up.

"Will you be okay to shower?" she asked.

I nodded. She let go of my arm and I walked into the bathroom to turn on the shower. I always liked to let the room fill with steam before getting in. I thought about what I would wear today. It would be easiest to wear a dress that I could slip over my head, I thought, just in case my back seized up and I couldn't bend over again.

I showered and washed my hair, then wrapped myself in my grey robe after toweling off. I usually sat at my vanity when I do my hair, but today I stood, as it was easier on my back. I tried sitting on the ledge at one point while I was in the shower, but it was far too painful. I knew it would be impossible to shave my legs, but thankfully the hair on my legs was as fine and pale as it was on my head. If I wore an ankle-length dress, no one would notice the stubble.

I tried to style my hair over the small cut on my forehead. Between makeup and my hair, I was sure Jonathan wouldn't notice. Not that it really mattered—he was my lawyer and couldn't say anything anyway. Still, I didn't want him seeing me in a position of weakness.

With hair and makeup in place, I emerged from the bathroom and headed for my closet. The carpeting was wet, but it looked as though Andrea or someone had gotten the blood stains out. I reached up to feel my head instinctively, shuddering when I thought of how long I might have been laying there if she didn't come by.

Selecting an off-the-shoulder ivory sweater dress from my closet, I pulled on my bandeau bra and sat down before slipping into a nude lace thong. My back was definitely hurting, but at least I was able to get my underwear on, I thought.

As I was pulling the dress over my head, Andrea knocked on the door.

"Just a minute," I called as I smoothed out the dress and readjusted my bra. With a quick glance in the mirror, I left the closet and opened the door to my bedroom.

"Wow," she said. "I—you look great. That was really quick."

"I'm experienced," I said with a smile.

"I have a steak salad downstairs for you—you should probably eat something with all this medication," she said. "And you kind of slept through the past few meals."

I nodded and carefully walked out of the room. When I stepped down the first stair, I could feel my back beginning to seize. I paused and took a deep breath, and Andrea noticed. Of course she did—she noticed everything.

Silently, she held out her arm for me. Supporting myself on the banister and her arm, I was able to make it down the stairs, where I quickly dropped to my knees.

"Miranda!"

"I'm fine," I said, knowing I needed to catch my breath from the painful walk down. "Give me a minute."

She walked away, and returned with an ice pack that she held to my lower back. "Stay here for a few minutes with the ice," she said.

"What time is it?" I asked after a while.

"4:02. Can you make it to the dining room table?"

I nodded and allowed her to help me up. It was strange that she suggested the dining room—I only ever used that room for formal dining, but before I could think more about it, I saw why. Andrea had brought items from my study downstairs to the dining room, spreading layouts and papers across the table. And she connected the conference speakerphone from my office here at the table. She did this so Jonathan would not question the change in venue, or my demeanor.

"Thank you," I said quietly, sitting at the head of the table where space had been reserved for my salad. She had my pain pill laid out for me, but not the muscle relaxer.

"Jonathan will be here in a few minutes. I'll show him here to the dining room, and then I'll head upstairs and keep myself busy. Is there anything else you will need?" she asked.

I swallowed the medication. "I'll have that later. One thing—I am sorry to ask, but can you retrieve my bone de La Renta heels? The medium height—they're in my closet."

"Of course," she said. She first went to the kitchen and brought out a lovely looking salad, then went upstairs and returned shortly after with the heels. I nodded, indicating they were the correct ones, and she dropped to her knees, sliding my feet into the shoes as if they were Cinderella's slipper.

"Andrea?" I heard myself say. "Would you mind—" I paused. I couldn't ask her to sit with me while we talk to my ex-husband and his attorney. It wasn't right. "Never mind," I said. I took a few more bites of the salad, picking out the steak and leaving the lettuce, as I always did.

She looked at me curiously. "Do you mind me asking what this meeting is about?" she said.

"Stephen is no longer receiving an alimony check, so he's trying to sue me," I said.

"Oh, wow. So, he's what, claiming that you should keep supporting him indefinitely?"

"No. But I'm sure that's somewhere in the back of his mind. He is trying to sue me for damages resulting from our marriage. As if I am to blame for his impotence," I huffed, rolling my eyes. I didn't know why I was explaining myself, but it just felt right with Andrea.

"Wait. He can't get it up and now it's your fault?"

"Apparently so," I said with a smirk.

"How is that even valid? I mean, it's not like you castrated him or anything," she said.

I laughed at that one. "Well, metaphorically I may have," I added. I never expected anything remotely sexual to come out of her mouth. It was intriguing, and I suddenly found myself wanting to tell her more, to see how far she would take it. "His lawyer is arguing that because I was so frigid and inattentive during the last year of our marriage, constantly denying him sex, his impotence is a result of inactivity."

"You have got to be kidding me," Andrea said.

"Oh I wish," I replied. How I wished I was joking. How I wished I had never married him in the first place. "Apparently his lawyer has a doctor who will testify to this fabricated science."

"What are you going to do?"

I smiled. I may not have been a great wife, but my housekeeper more than earned her worth. "Cara had photos of the women he cheated on me with. We were able to contact at least two of them who were willing to go on the record that they had sex with him during the last year of our marriage. And he had no problem whatsoever getting it up with them."

"Wow. That's… so, he brought them here, to your home?" Andrea asked. She was scandalized.

"Worse. The girls were home on at least one occasion," I said. Cara was a godsend, though, and she kept the girls distracted so that they never noticed. I chuckled again. This whole situation was so ridiculous—it was almost unbelievable.

"Miranda, I am so sorry."

My expression quickly changed. "I am not interested in your pity." I suddenly felt defensive. I pushed away from the table to stand and grimaced as pain seared through me. The pain pill hadn't had enough time to work.

I took my plate to the kitchen and set it on the counter. She didn't follow me, so maybe that good sense of hers was kicking in and she knew I needed to be alone.

The doorbell rang, and I heard her run to the door while I made my way back to the dining room. For the next hour, as I spoke with Jonathan and listened to Stephen and his lawyer—a ditzy female, naturally—whine on the telephone, my mind drifted back to Andrea. I didn't intend to be so harsh with her—it just came out. And while it was true, that I did not want her pity, I regretted the way I spoke to her and dismissed her. She had been nothing short of wonderful this entire time, and I reacted too harshly.

I must have spaced out of the conversation entirely with the lawyers, as I suddenly felt Jonathan's hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him, then at the phone, which was no longer connected to the call.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

"I—I—I'm fine," I stammered. "My mind drifted there for a minute."

He sighed. "I know this is rough, but I promise you, that cheating bastard will not see another dime from you," he said. He brushed his thumb along my bare shoulder and reached up to cup my cheek with his other hand. I froze and looked up at him. "Miranda, I'm here if there's anything you need."

I opened my mouth to speak, but before the words could come out, he closed his eyes and leaned forward to kiss me.

My reflexes quickly kicked in and I reached up to push his face away. Had I not been so distracted, I would have slapped him across the face. "Leave my house," I said calmly.

"Miranda, I thought that—I just wanted to help," he said.

"Take your things and go," I said.

"But I thought that was what you wanted, wearing that sexy dress and inviting me here to your home—"

"You misunderstood. Please leave," I said. "Now." Why is it that a woman's clothing is perceived as an invitation for god knows what? I was furious, but tried not to show it. I picked up a pencil and pretended to get back to work, scribbling a note on the closest piece of paper that I wanted to get an article on this in our next issue.

He gathered his papers and left the dining room without another word. When I heard the door close, I sighed and kicked off my heels. I pushed the chair away from the table and stood, feeling a tightness in my back once again. I could still smell him and feel his rough hands on me. It sent a chill through my entire body.

I walked over to the couch and sank into the cushions, curling onto my side as I felt my emotions surging. I couldn't pinpoint what had made me so emotional, and I started to cry—not just a few tears, but rather this tremendous overflowing of emotion. I was a mess.

I had fought off my share of unwanted advances in the past, but somehow this was different. And it's not that the gesture itself was unwanted—it was more the fact that it was coming from him, and older man who had known me for years, who fought for me through two divorces. And that comment he made about my dress.

Andrea appeared in the dining room, and the look in her eyes reminded me of the harsh words I spoke to her before Jonathan arrived. I felt an urge to apologize, to tell her I would accept her pity or anything she had to give me. I wanted her to comfort me. This realization only made me cry harder, and I buried my face in the pillows.

I felt a warm hand on my shoulder, and the sensation sent sparks through my body. "What can I do?" she asked quietly. She softly stroked my shoulder, and I couldn't help but think about how soft and warm her hand felt—so unlike Jonathan's. My eyes fluttered open.

"I wish you would tell me what happened and let me help you," she whispered.

I didn't want to tell her about him. I didn't want to tell her about anything, in fact. I wanted her arms around me, and it terrified me. Never in my life had I felt that way about someone—even James, who I loved more than any of them. I never had this desire to be held by him.

She softly rubbed my arm and I felt a shiver through my body.

"Come on, you'll be more comfortable upstairs," she said, reaching for my elbow.

I pushed myself up and allowed her to help me up. I refused to look into her eyes, afraid of what I might find. She wrapped her arm around my waist and led me back upstairs. "How is your back?"

"Still sore," I said as I sat on the bed. She brought me another dose of pain medication with a muscle relaxer and a fresh ice pack.

"Stay with me?" I heard myself say. I bit my lower lip. There was no way she would agree to this, and I already felt foolish for asking. When she didn't respond, I cracked my eyes open, hoping she hadn't just walked away.

Her sincere brown eyes gazed back at me. "I will gladly stay," she said with a smile. "Do you mind if I sit up on the bed like last night?"

I shook my head as I willed the medication to kick in. Andrea settled next to me, and I reached out for her hand, squeezing it tightly. Without another thought, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

When I woke early the next morning, Andrea was already awake and dressed. I was still wearing my dress from the previous day. She asked how I slept, then helped me out of bed. My back was actually very sore, and she must have noticed that I was disoriented.

"Today is Thursday," she said. "You have a follow-up appointment with Dr. Stevens this morning at 8, and they requested you wait until after the appointment to take any medication, if possible."

I took a deep breath and headed to the shower. When I was finished, I put on a skirt and blouse and reluctantly grabbed a pair of Chanel flats. Andrea must have been in the hallway listening for me, because when I reached the top of the stairs, she appeared out of nowhere, watching carefully as I descended.

I went into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee and sat at the counter to eat a muffin. I could barely keep the food down. My back was so sore, it was making me nauseous.

I glanced up at the clock—7:30. His office was only a few blocks away, but I didn't know how much longer I could tolerate the pain. And I hesitated to say anything to Andrea, but it was beginning to spread, shooting down my leg and into my left calf.

She must have been able to sense my discomfort, because she held out an ice pack and gestured towards the couch.

"Let's go now. I'd rather wait at his office than here," I said. "Is Roy outside?"

Andrea nodded and gathered her bag. "Will you be okay on the front steps?" she asked.

I nodded and followed her out the door. She held out her arm for assistance as we walked down the steps, and even though I really didn't need it, I wanted her to see how much I appreciated the gesture.

Inside the car, I was extremely uncomfortable, but found that leaning forward in my seat produced the least pain.

"Would you like some coffee? We have time—I'll run in for you, of course, but the Starbucks is in the lobby of the doctor's office," Andrea said.

I took a deep breath. "No. But go ahead and order something for yourself and Roy, too," I said. She looked up at me and just shook her head.

A few minutes later, we pulled up to the office building. I could tell something was wrong, but I didn't want to push her on the coffee issue—or anything else for that matter.

When we entered the office upstairs, the receptionist had to actually unlock the door for us—we were that early. She offered us some water or anything else to make us more comfortable, and she said the doctor would see me as soon as he arrived.

"I want to apologize for yesterday," I said quietly. Andrea looked confused, so I figured I needed to clarify. "The way I snapped at you," I said.

"Oh, it's okay. Don't worry about it."

"No, Andrea, it's not okay. You have been nothing short of extraordinary these past few days, and it is not okay for me to speak to you like that," I said. "I know you don't pity me like that."

"I meant to tell you, your lawyer's office sent a confidential email this morning. I didn't mean to open it—it was an accident. I only saw the first sentence, but it, um," she nervously bit her lip, "it appears that you will need to find another law firm to represent you."

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could speak, the nurse poked her head out of the door.

"The doctor will see you now, Ms. Priestly," she said.

"I was expecting that," I said, carefully pushing myself up from the chair. I almost asked the young woman to come back with me, but then I would have felt the need to explain why my lawyer had suddenly dropped me as a client.

I followed the nurse into the exam room and was surprised to see Dr. Haller again.

"You?" I said.

"You're the one who made the appointment, Miranda. You may leave if you wish," he said. "I was under the impression you were still having pain."

I sighed. "I am, and it's unbearable this morning. I am usually much nicer," I said, flashing a fake smile his way. He seemed to respond well enough to that, so I put it out of my mind.

"You appear to be in pain," he said.

I rolled my eyes. "Is it that obvious?"

"Did the medication help at all?"

"Well, yes. The pain medication did provide some temporary relief, but it also made me tired, as did the muscle relaxer. The muscle relaxer was actually a little too relaxing," I said, thinking back to the early hours of the morning spent on the floor, unable to move my limbs.

"Yes, your assistant called the office and let us know. I'd like to draw some blood work, then send you for an MRI. Have you been feeling any other symptoms?"

I sighed. "The pain has been shooting down my leg—but that just started yesterday, really. I'm sure I just slept funny."

"Miranda, the MRI will confirm this, but I think your pain is actually caused by a spinal stenosis, or a narrowing of the spinal column that surrounds the nerve. It's actually quite common in patients over fifty, and I think with the right combination of medication, you should be just fine," he said. He scribbled down something on his notepad and handed Miranda two slips of paper.

"That's all?" I asked, rolling my eyes at the "over fifty" comment.

"You'll have to go to the hospital annex for the lab and imaging. Just walk in and hand them that, and you'll be good to go," he said, standing and walking to the door. "Oh, and just fax over whatever paperwork your insurance requires—you'll need at least six weeks off your feet to properly heal. Oh, and keep taking the painkillers and muscle relaxers until your test results come back."

I was in shock. A nurse came in and led me out to the waiting room, where Andrea was sitting.

"Look, I'm sorry. I don't know when I will be free…No, I'm still in New York, but…" she paused. "I gotta go," she said, ending the call and jumping to her feet. I seemed to have an uncanny ability to catch her in the middle of private conversations. I could only imagine whom she was apologizing to now.

"I have to go to the Annex for a few tests," I said, walking out the door. As long as I kept moving, I didn't have to think about the pain.

In the car, I sat there leaning forward on my elbows. Andrea was digging for something in her bag, and I practically jumped when I felt her hand on my back.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," she said. I sat up a little, but she didn't remove her hand from my back. "I have your pain medication," she said.

"Oh thank god," I said. I accepted the bottle of water and swallowed down a pill. I only wished it worked immediately.

"I hate to ask this, but, Miranda, are you going to be able to go back to work?" she said. I could hardly process the question while her hand was still on my back, tracing tiny circles.

"I—I—yes, eventually. He wants me to rest for six weeks," I said with a sigh.

"Oh no, Miranda! But he thinks you'll be better by then?"

I just shrugged. I didn't want to talk about it, so I sat back and put my sunglasses on, gazing out at the traffic.

We didn't speak again until later that afternoon, after Andrea picked up some papers for me from _Runway_. I suspected the team had been falling behind in my absence, so I was thoroughly disappointed to find everything perfectly normal, as if I hadn't even been gone.

I poured myself one finger of scotch and curled up in the corner of the couch. I knew I was getting older, but that didn't mean I was obsolete. As the warm scotch trickled down my throat, I closed my eyes and let my thoughts drift away.

I woke up a few minutes later when Andrea sat on the sofa next to me.

"You shouldn't be drinking with your medication," she said, taking the glass from my hand.

"I know. I read the email from my lawyers—after the way I sent Jonathan home yesterday, it really comes as no surprise," I said.

"Did he side with Stephen or something?"

I laughed and shook my head, my hair falling over my eye. I was not expecting that response at all. "He kissed me—or tried to—and I pushed him away and asked him to leave. I knew when he walked out the front door that I would never see him again," I said.

"I'm sor—I mean, um, that's interesting," she said.

I reached out for her hand, squeezing it softly. "It is pathetic and disgusting, and I even feel a little sorry for myself," I said.

Andrea reached up and brushed my hair out of my face. I inhaled sharply at the unexpected contact, and our eyes met. I couldn't think clearly—my mind was still foggy with a combination of the medication and alcohol. Her eyes kept darting between my eyes and my lips, and I let myself indulge for a moment. She was so beautiful, so stunning. I was sure her lips would be as soft as her touch.

Then a cell phone rang, just as she was leaning closer. She quickly jumped up and excused herself to take the call.

.

.

TBC

A/N: hope you're liking it...gave you a bit of a longer chapter this time because I won't be able to post for a while.


	6. Chapter 6

When Andrea returned, I was still sitting on the couch, scrolling through emails on my phone. I didn't want to push her, but I hoped we could pick up where things left off.

"That was Nigel. There was an issue with the—you know what, forget it," she said, interrupting herself. "It's handled."

I could sense that she was nervous around me—more so than usual. Thinking back to that look in her eyes just a short while ago, or the conversation I heard days ago between her and her boyfriend, I wondered if there was something there—if maybe, by chance, she felt as strongly for me as I did for her. That maybe she was struggling to contain her emotions as unsuccessfully as I was.

Now is my only chance, I thought. If she turned me down, I could always blame it on the medication or the scotch. I set down my phone and looked up at her.

She was doing something on her phone, but she must have felt my eyes on her. Like me, she set her phone down and looked up, eager to help with whatever she could. I hoped and prayed I had observed correctly.

"Andrea, I want to ask you something."

"Sure."

"Not as my employee," I added.

"Oh, um, okay," she said, nervously.

"Have I been keeping you from anything?"

"No. I just—no."

"Do not lie to me, Andrea. I find it hard to believe you have zero obligations outside of _Runway_. And I'm not blind—you've spent the last three days at my side."

"Nate and I were supposed to have dinner the other night, to talk about maybe getting back together. Well, I missed dinner because I was at work, so that's kind of a moot point."

"I'm sorry that I kept you from him."

Andrea rolled her eyes. "Don't be. I lost interest in him a while ago," she said.

I took a deep breath. Now or never, I told myself. "So, I have another question for you."

"Yes?"

"Will you have dinner with me?"

Her eyes widened and I detected a hint of a smile. "You mean, like—"

"Yes," I said, smiling. "Like that."

She smiled and asked, "Tonight?"

"Why not?"

"Will I also have to prepare said dinner?" she asked with a smirk.

At this, I laughed. "Of course not. I will order everything to be delivered. Dinner will be at 7:15. Dress is casual. Do you accept the invitation?"

"Yes," she said, smiling brightly. "I'm going to go get ready—I'll see you downstairs in an hour or so?"

I nodded, smiling as she left the room. My observations had not been wrong.

* * *

When the doorbell rang, I quickly went to answer it. I had taken my pain medication about an hour prior, so my back was feeling good. I opted to skip the muscle relaxer just to be safe. I had the delivery boy from Smith & Wollensky help me carry everything into the kitchen, where I had the island set for an intimate dinner for two. I had even pulled my wax tapers from the hutch and lit them, giving me an excuse to dim the lights.

Once everything was set and I had changed into linen pants and a soft brown cashmere off-the-shoulder sweater, I waited in the kitchen. I poured her a glass of prosecco, and myself a glass of sparkling white grape juice, so as not to interfere with the medication twice in one day. My heart was thrumming with nervous excitement as I wondered if tonight she would hold me in her arms, if she would be the one to cup my cheek and ask what she could do for me.

"Hi, am I late?" she said, stepping into the kitchen. "I know you said to dress casual, but, well I didn't bring anything casual besides my pajamas. I am barefoot, though, so that makes it less dressy, right? Okay, I'll stop talking."

"Andrea, you are right on time, and looking lovely. Please, sit," I said, holding the chair out for her. I took two salad plates from the refrigerator and set them down before joining her at the counter. "Cheers—to tonight," I said.

She clinked her glass with mine and looked at me with the most gorgeous brown eyes I had ever seen. "Miranda, you look stunning as well. I wasn't able to tell you that earlier, but the off-the-shoulder look is by far my favorite on you," she said, blushing profusely. She quickly put a forkful of lettuce in her mouth to deter my questioning.

"Thank you," I said, as I racked my brain for other times she saw my bare shoulders like that. The first time would probably have been the custom Valentino at the benefit. After that, I suppose she had seen me at least once in this camel cashmere sweater, which I often wore if I was at home. I smiled as I finished my small salad plate. "I was a little worried this look would be too risqué on someone my age."

"Seriously?" she asked, her mouth full of food. Under any other circumstances, that would be an incredible turnoff, but somehow, I tolerated it with from Andrea. Actually, it was beyond that, I found it endearing. "It's only risqué if the top falls off, right?"

I nearly choked on my juice. She did have a point there. "Touché, Andrea."

"This sweater material is like the dress yesterday. It's softer, and it moves with you. The Valentino was gorgeous, but it was also more structured. When you turned, the dress really didn't. I think if you would have arched your back enough…" her voice trailed off. "I'm sorry. How is your back feeling?"

"My back is fine," I said, standing to gather our salad plates and place them in the sink. I pulled the salmon out of the oven where I had placed it to keep warm, and carefully plated two filets, along with some asparagus and quinoa.

"This looks delicious," she said.

As I was walking back to my chair, I paused behind her and placed my hands gently on her arms just below the shoulder. " _You_ look delicious, Andrea," I whispered, softly squeezing her arms before heading back. I heard her breath hitch and felt the goosebumps prickling her skin. That was exactly the reaction I had been hoping for.

We both ate dinner rather quickly—either we were both hungry or eager to finish. I almost wished I hadn't rushed things so much, since I really did want to get to know her a little more, so I thought about ways in which I could recover the evening.

She was the first to finish. She took her own plate to the sink and returned with the bottle of sparkling wine, helping herself to another glass. "What else do we have planned for the evening?" she asked.

I finished my glass of sparkling juice and pushed my plate away. "Well, there is one gigantic piece of french silk pie in the refrigerator, but I was thinking before dessert, we could get to know one another a little better, perhaps through a game," I said.

"Oh, okay. Like, a board game?" she asked.

"No. I was thinking of Two Truths and a Lie. Have you ever played? I'll confess, my daughters taught it to me."

"I'm familiar. We used to play it as a drinking game in college," she said, rolling her eyes. At my questioning look, she clarified, "You just drink whenever you're wrong."

"Well that would be no fun tonight, would it? Not only am I not drinking alcohol, but I am also never wrong," I said with a wink.

"Oh, please. You have no idea how competitive I can be."

"Try me," I said, standing from my chair. I took my dishes to the sink and poured myself a glass of sparkling water. I motioned for Andrea to bring the wine bottle with her, and she followed me out onto the back terrace.

"It's lovely out here," she said. I rarely entertained at home anymore, so the patio didn't see much use, but it was actually quite cozy with the string lights around the fence and the two sofas and chairs arranged around the fire pit.

"Please make yourself comfortable. We obviously won't need the fire pit tonight," I said. I walked over to the corner of the patio and reached into the control box next to the shed, turning on the fans and the music. The Beach Boys' "God Only Knows" came on very quietly. " _Pet Sounds_ has always been one of my favorite albums, and it's the only thing I have on this iPod out here—I hope you don't mind indulging me this tonight," I said.

Andrea smiled brightly. "I do not mind at all. And having those fans around the perimeter, aimed upwards, really helps to keep the mosquitos away. That's ingenious," she said.

"My idea."

"Of course it was."

She was seated in the corner of one of the sofas, so I took the other sofa, in the corner to be nearer to her. Everything about this night was perfect. I was terrified to ruin the relationship we have, but at the same time, I couldn't deny that I wanted more…much more.

.

.

TBC

* * *

Just a quick update... Too fast? Too slow? Let me know!


	7. Chapter 7

"Okay, can I start?" she asked.

I nodded.

"My two truths and a lie are The Beach Boys was my first concert, I was obsessed with the musical _Annie_ as a kid, and I played the flute in grade school marching band."

I pondered these ideas. One was not true, but she was rather good at this game. I could see all of the above being true.

"Give up?"

"No. But this is more difficult than I imagined," I said. "Fine, the lie is the Beach Boys concert. You're just making that up because of this," I said, gesturing at the speakers.

"Wrong! First round!" she giggled. "We're keeping score, right?"

"Absolutely not. So wait, that was really your first concert?" I was shocked.

"Yes. With my parents. Summer of 1992. _With_ Brian Wilson," she said proudly. "And for the record I am keeping score in my head. When you're off these painkillers, you will drink up," she said with a smile.

"Wait, so what was the lie?" I asked.

"Oh, _Annie_. I hate that musical. Your turn."

I nodded my head, storing all this information away for another time. It was curious, and I wanted to know more, but tonight was really about scratching the surface, wasn't it? I thought for a moment about what mine would be.

"I have dual citizenship in the US and UK, I play three instruments, and I never attended junior high."

"Dual citizenship," she said confidently.

My jaw practically dropped. She answered so quickly, she didn't even need to think about it. "What? How?"

"Miranda, I handle all of your travel arrangements, did you forget? Do you think I would be fishing out your US Passport every time you went to London or Paris or Milan if I didn't need to?"

"Oh, I guess…I forgot about that," I said. I was actually disappointed in myself for not coming up with something better.

"Can I ask about junior high?" she said, sipping on her wine.

"I had to take some jobs in my neighborhood to help my family keep food on the table—at least for a while," I said. I trembled as I felt a chill run through my body. I was not prepared to have this conversation about my childhood with her—not yet.

Seeing me shiver, Andrea took the throw from the back of the sofa she was sitting on and brought it over to me. "We can share," she said as she sat next to me, huddled under the blanket. I didn't have the heart to tell her that it wasn't the temperature that caused it.

"I can see that's not a comfortable subject," Andrea said. "I'm sorry to have brought it up. I hope it didn't ruin the evening."

"Don't be silly. Now, it's your turn," I said.

"Okay. My mom is a lawyer, my dad is an accountant, and my brother is in college at Ohio State," she said.

I thought about it for a minute, then turned to look her in the eye. "You don't have a brother," I said proudly.

"Damn. My winning streak was short-lived," she said, giggling. She got up from the space next to me to get her wine glass and took a drink.

"What kind of law does your mother practice?" I asked.

"She works in the public sector, mostly pro-bono work. A lot of housing and family advising. And she lectures regularly at the homeless shelters in Cincinnati. Dad is an accountant for Nationwide insurance, which is based in Columbus," she volunteered.

"Okay, my turn so soon. My hair color for most of my life was strawberry blonde, my given name is Miriam, and," I paused, looking at her with a devilish grin, "Andrea Sachs is a satisfactory assistant."

"That is so not fair," she said.

I was through with the stories about our families and this dancing around the elephant in the room. I needed to take things a step further.

"Miriam isn't your name," she said.

"Wrong," I said, grinning. "Your confidence is faltering."

"I knew about the strawberry blonde hair—I've seen pictures around the house. But your name? Is it not Miranda?"

"On my sixteenth birthday, I changed it. And that's all you're getting on the subject tonight," I added. "I do believe that's another drink for you, Miss Sachs."

"Wait, what was the lie then?" she asked, puzzled.

"Oh!" I said, suddenly remembering the game. "Andrea Sachs is _not_ a satisfactory assistant, she is an _extraordinary_ assistant and human being."

She had the good sense to blush and took a long swig of her glass. "Miranda Priestly, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to get me drunk."

"If you knew me better, you wouldn't be losing at this game," I said.

"Okay, two can play at this," she said, grinning at me over her glass. "I have a white cat named Miranda, I've masturbated in the ladies' room at Elias-Clarke, and I've put on your jackets at work after you've left for the night."

Oh my—she saw my plan and raised the stakes. "The ladies room at Elias-Clarke," I said.

"Nope," she grinned.

"What?!" I gasped. "When? Why? Which one?"

"The day you wore that green silk Gaultier camisole under your blazer," she said. "For the Spring issue planning meeting back in February. And that is all I will say on the subject," she added with a wink.

I gazed at her curiously. "So the lie?"

"I do not have a cat named Miranda—that would be way too weird."

I shook my head, baffled at these revelations. She said that as if the other truth—that she had put on my jackets after I left—was perfectly normal.

As if she had sensed my fears, she reached for my hand under the blanket and squeezed. "I promise you, I am not a creepy psychopath stalker. There was just something about having my arms inside a jacket that smelled like you—it felt like you were hugging me, and it was comforting, especially when things were really bad with Nate and I didn't even want to go home."

I squeezed her hand in appreciation. The explanation actually helped put my mind at ease. "Okay, last round—tiebreaker, I suppose—then we can go inside for dessert," I said. "Two truths and one lie: I love french silk pie, I had a wonderful time this evening, and I really want you to kiss me."

She squeezed my hand and pressed her lips to my cheek, near my ear. I nearly moaned at the sensation. She whispered, "I, unlike you, actually _do_ love french silk pie, and I think you will, too, if you taste it directly from my lips."

I gasped and shuddered at the anticipation. She kissed my cheek once again, then pulled away.

"My turn," she said. "I had a wonderful time this evening, I have kissed you in your sleep, and I left in Paris because I actually couldn't control my emotions for you."

It was my turn to gasp and look at her. "You've kissed me in my sleep?"

"No!" she shouted, laughing almost hysterically. "Why do you keep thinking I am this creepy stalker? You realize the point is to say one thing that's not true, right? And you're supposed to guess what the lie is?" she laughed.

"So, it's true about Paris, your emotions for me?" I asked.

She nodded. "Can we talk about this over pie?" she asked eagerly.

I nodded and pushed the blanket aside, but she tugged on my hand, pulling me back to the sofa. "I can get it and bring it back out here—is that alright?" she said. Again, I nodded and watched through the windows as this lovely woman made herself at home in my kitchen. She returned with the pie, two napkins, one spoon, and a bottle of water.

She took the first bite of pie and moaned as she placed the spoon in her mouth. I quickly realized that if french silk pie meant watching the brunette lick that spoon dry, I would gladly order it every day. She took a smaller spoonful and teased my lips with it, careful not to get any chocolate on me—only a bit of whipped topping. She again devoured the second bite, licking the spoon clean each time.

When she had eaten a good portion of the pie, she set the plate on the table and turned to face me. Her eyes were dark and full of desire. "I know I said we could talk about Paris, but would you mind if we—"

She didn't get to finish her thought because my lips were on hers, pressing her back into the cushion. She tasted divine, and her lips, oh god, I could go on for days about her lips. My hands were on her shoulders, but I wanted to explore everything all at once. Everything and anything. I needed to feel this woman against me.

Andrea sensed the urgency and quickly spun us around so I was pressed into the back of the sofa. "Is this okay on your back?" she asked, gently kissing my temple and my cheek and trailing her lips down my jawline and neck.

"Yes—it's fine. Oh god," I moaned once again. Her hands were on my neck, my chest, my shoulders. That creamy expanse of skin I knew she enjoyed so much, on display for her and her alone tonight. I arched my back for her.

She groaned in response and attacked my chest with her hands and her mouth, squeezing and pulling and pinching my breasts through the cashmere fabric, licking and sucking and kissing every inch of exposed skin. Whenever any of my other lovers would handle me like this, I felt nothing but soreness, yet Andrea's touch was so light and gentle, I knew I would never ever get enough of this young woman.

"Darling," I said, softly brushing her cheek, guiding her lips back up to mine. I kissed her, then pulled away slightly, pressing my cheek to hers as I tried to calm my racing heart. "Darling, I think we better take things inside."

She smirked and kissed my cheek. "Will you come, inside?" she asked. Her eyes glistened with desire.

I could not ignore that dramatic pause, and I certainly was not about to be upstaged by her, not after losing our little game before. "Will you take two fingers, or three?" I asked.

She gasped, and I kissed her cheek before squirming out from beneath her arms and smoothing out my sweater. Things had taken a sharp turn, and I wasn't sure that I was ready for that. Inside, I quickly wrapped the dinner leftovers and placed them in the refrigerator. As I bent over to put the aluminum foil back in the drawer, I could feel the sharp pain in my back again, and I had to rely heavily on countertop to help myself back up.

Andrea came up behind me, her hand resting gently on the small of my back. "You should probably take your medication now," she said.

I opened my mouth to protest, but she interrupted, pulling me closer to her and wrapping her arms around my waist as she laid her head on my shoulder.

"I am not going anywhere, Miranda. I want you to be healthy, and the last thing I want is for you to be in any pain, especially because of me," she said.

I nodded. She knew me so well, it was actually a bit scary. "I wish the medication didn't make me so sleepy," I said as I accepted one and a half pills from the young woman. Turning around to face her, I put my hands gently on her shoulders.

"Let's just go upstairs," she said. "I don't want you to think I am not interested in where this was going, because I am. But I'm—I just want to take this slowly."

I certainly wasn't expecting to hear that from the young woman, but I could respect her honesty—although she sure didn't seem to want to go slowly when she had my breast in her palm. I shivered at the memory.

"Look, there are some things we should discuss first," she said.

I closed my eyes and prepared myself. I had heard and dreaded this speech more times than I could count:

 _I'm sorry, I didn't think you were interested in something serious..._ _It's not you, it's me..._ _You have such a demanding career..._ _I don't want people thinking I'm using you to get ahead..._ _I'm not sure that your daughters will like me..._ _I can't tell my family about you..._ _I love you, but I can't..._ _Anyone would be lucky to have you._

I took a deep breath and shook my head. I thought she would be different. That maybe she could protect my heart like no other. Well, I was about to be proved wrong once again, but this time, I didn't want to linger around for the pathetic second act in which we attempt to remain friends.

"I'm going upstairs. You may show yourself out," I said, quickly pulling away from her arms and heading up the stairs.

Before I reached the second floor she was on my heels.

"Wait, Miranda. What happened? What did I miss?" she asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Andrea, I have been dating since before you were born. I know how this goes. I'm exhausted, and honestly, I'm not interested to hear your excuse. Save your breath," I said, marching back up to my bedroom. I had heard it all before, and it was disappointing to learn she would be no different.

I paused at the entrance to my room, sensing that she was still standing at the top of the stairs. "Andrea, that's all," I said, entering my room and shutting the door behind me. I locked it, to be safe. How foolish of me to think that I actually had a chance with this young woman, I thought as I removed my makeup. I took the sweater off quickly, balling it up before throwing it rather forcefully at my laundry basket.

How could I have been so foolish? Playing that silly game with her. Telling her about my childhood, my name, even! I threw away the working relationship with my best assistant to date…all for a few kisses because I couldn't control myself. How humiliating.

Laying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, I could begin to feel the medication seep into my veins. I took another half of the muscle relaxer, and made a mental note to stay in bed this time. Maybe, if I slept long enough, I'd wake up from this nightmare. Or, maybe it wasn't too late to blame it on the medication.

* * *

"If you don't have good news, I don't want to hear it," Nigel answered the phone. It was late Friday night, and he was still at the office, thanks to my unplanned absence.

"Nige, it's me. And I don't have good news," Andrea said.

"What happened now?"

"Nothing with the magazine, not really. Do you have a minute?"

"Sixty seconds. Go," he said.

"We had dinner last night—a romantic dinner—and we kissed. We kissed a lot, actually. We started to talk about Paris, and I was going to explain everything, but things went from zero to sixty in about three-and-a-half seconds. And then her back started hurting again, so I kind of hit pause and said we should talk and take it a little more slowly. She freaked out and sent me home!"

"What exactly did she say? I've known her for long enough. She likes to be in control of the situation, the pace—she demands it, actually. My guess is that you trying to slow her down just didn't sit well."

"I don't think that's it. She said she didn't want to hear my excuse, that she's been dating since before I was born. She locked herself in her bedroom."

"And you left?"

"She told me to show myself out!"

"Did you get where you are by always doing what she says?"

"Well, no."

"Exactly. This is a classic knee-jerk reaction for Miranda. She lets someone in, starts to feel something, then convinces herself she doesn't deserve it. If you want her—and I know you do—go fight for her. Especially now. If she's going to be off for the next few weeks, she can't throw herself into work like she usually does."

"You think?"

"Honey. Tell her about Paris. Tell her like you told me. I know that she has no idea what really happened."

"What if she tells me to leave again and kicks me out?"

"You'll think of something. Take advantage of her incapacitation. Make her listen before you release her pain meds. Tie her down to the bed, I don't know."

"Okay, I get it. I'm going to freshen up at home tonight, but I'll go back early in the morning."

"Keep me posted."

"Will do. Need anything at _Runway_?"

"Yes, Miranda back to work and in a good mood. See what you can do for me?"

"On it. Thanks, Nige!"

"Good luck, Six!"

* * *

That night, I didn't hear Andrea after I shut the door, and she didn't try to call my cell phone. Part of me hoped she would—that she would at least _want to_ fight for me, even though it would be pointless. Then again, she was the smartest assistant I've ever had, so it didn't surprise me that she knew better than to waste her time with such nonsense.

I thought about finding her replacement, about finding someone more like Emily Charlton to take her place—competent and loyal, but more importantly, not distracting. Not that anyone could ever fill Andrea's shoes.

That night, my dreams were filled with visions of Andrea Sachs—kissing me, watching me, hugging me, walking with me, holding me. It was a peaceful sort of dream, and for those first few moments after waking, I forgot that it wasn't real. I could almost feel her arm across my waist.

I blinked several times. The early morning sunlight was trickling through the curtains. As my eyes adjusted, I could see that the other side of the bed hadn't been touched. The events of the previous night came flooding back to my mind and I was tempted to close my eyes and go back to sleep. It wasn't often the case that my dreams were preferred to reality, but today it was.

I laid in bed for a while longer, staring up at the ceiling. Last night felt so…good. So easy. I have never met another human being I feel so comfortable around. And now I lost that.

I didn't even get to hear about Paris. Would she go back to work at the office or quit entirely? I wasn't sure, but I was fairly confident that I would not see her again. I climbed out of bed, awkwardly, feeling a tightness in all the muscles of my body. I needed coffee and my medication, both of which were downstairs.

After using the bathroom and brushing my teeth, I went downstairs. I could almost smell the coffee. The stairs were difficult without Andrea's help. I think going down was worse than going up. By the time I reached the bottom, I was out of breath and feeling some intense pain in my back, causing me to drop to my knees at the foot of the stairs. I rested my head against the bannister, closing my eyes and breathing through the pain.

I heard footsteps approaching and quickly looked up, shocked to see Andrea standing in my foyer. "What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I want to talk."

I was confused. I couldn't think straight. When would the pain subside? She went to the kitchen and came back with an ice pack. I sighed in relief at the site of it, but when she didn't apply it to my lower back, I got confused. "Andrea?"

"I want to talk," she repeated. "You want this ice pack? You have to give me five minutes."

I groaned. I didn't want to hear this. I already had tears in my eyes from the pain in my back. I didn't want to hear her tell me I am unfit for a relationship or whatever other excuse she had.

"Okay, fine. But—the ice?"

She held the ice pack on my lower back and I felt the sharp pain slowly replaced by a cold numbing sensation.

"So, I walked away that day in Paris because I wasn't ready to talk about my feelings, but now I am, as cheesy as that sounds. I wanted you then—like, it was borderline obsession. I knew I didn't have a chance, that it was just a crush that I would grow out of. But you started talking to me that day in the car—and combined with the night before—you saw me for me. You paid attention to me, and I was possibly more than just some young employee to you. I couldn't take the warring emotions, and I needed some space. I thought about quitting, but I didn't really want that. So, I convinced myself to forget about the crush and to just do the job I was hired to do," she said.

"That doesn't really make sense," I said. The pain was still there, but much more bearable.

"I know. I started talking to a therapist, too. And it didn't really work either, but that's what I kept telling myself. Until yesterday," she said.

"I still don't understand what you're doing here? I thought you wanted—"

"Look, I want you. Stop thinking you know what I am going to say or do. Last night, I wanted to talk a little more, to tell you I wanted to take it slowly because I was nervous. Because things escalated quicker than I could have imagined. I've never done this with a woman. None of that changes how I feel about you, Miranda. I think we had a wonderful dinner last night and I love the time we spent getting to know one another. I just—"

"Spit it out," I said, bracing myself.

She started crying, and suddenly I felt horrible. "I didn't know how to put my emotions into words," she said, wiping her eyes and sniffling. "Last night was basically our first date! There are certain words you just can't say on a first date!" she said, waving her hands through her hair.

I was in shock. Did she mean…those three little words? I surely thought she would have been trying to find the words to tell me that it wouldn't work for one reason or another. But instead—I would have never imagined this. I needed to know. "Would you have said those certain words if it was the hundredth date?" I asked after a few minutes, sitting back on my heels.

"Don't ask me that. You can't ask me that—it's not fair," she said.

She was right. It wasn't fair, and I owed her an apology. "I overreacted," I said, closing my eyes, "and I am sorry." I stood and walked over to her, reaching out for her elbow.

"I was going to spend the night at my own apartment from now on," she said.

I froze, then carefully peeled my fingers away from her arm. "I see," I said. There was a palpable chill in the air, and I wrapped my arms around my waist in effort to comfort myself. I took a deep breath. "I'm going to go upstairs and lie down," I said.

"Please, hear me out," she said.

"Why should I?" I asked. "You either want to be here with me or you don't. I don't deserve to be treated like this." I knew I should look her in the eye—it was cowardly not to—but I couldn't bring myself to face that rejection.

"You didn't let me finish," she said quietly, reaching for my hand. "I _was going to_ spend the night at home, now that you're back is doing a little better and all, but if you were to extend an invitation to me, I might be persuaded."

"Oh Andrea, honestly."

"Honestly what? I need to know that you want me here—not as your assistant or as a caregiver, but as a sort of friend," she said.

"A 'sort of friend?'" I asked.

Andrea looked up at me and smiled. "Yeah," she grinned.

She stepped closer and pressed her lips against mine. There was a lingering taste of minty mouthwash on her tongue, and it only ignited my desire. I wanted to taste every inch of this beautiful woman. I moaned into her mouth and my hands reached for her, cupping her cheek, sliding through her hair, touching her shoulder, her chest, her arms.

I could feel her pushing me away, so I broke the kiss, instead focusing my attention on that delicate skin along her neck.

"Miranda?" she whispered.

"Mmm?"

"I want to do more of this—tomorrow and the next day and the next," Andrea said. "Do you think that could be arranged?"

I chuckled and wrapped my arms around the young woman. I most definitely could arrange this.

.

.

TBC... or not? Haven't had much time to work on this one lately, not sure if it's worth continuing?


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Andrea stayed at my house from that day forward. We spent time getting to know each other, beginning and ending each day with a kiss and the promise of something more. We were both careful to keep our emotions under control—or at least I was. I mean, I tried to, and I liked to think she was trying, too. There was at least one occasion where I abruptly pulled away from her embrace and asked her to go downstairs and get me ice, simply because I could no longer control my hands if I were left alone with her.

Before I knew it, two weeks had passed. Nigel needed my opinion on a few plans for the next year, and so Andrea and I found ourselves in the town car on the way to _Runway_. We hadn't discussed our relationship at all—I almost preferred it that way, but I could see the young woman was deeply upset.

In the car, I reached my hand out across the seat and laid it on hers. I fixed my eyes forward and held her hand there. Whatever this was between us, I wasn't willing to give it up just yet.

I met Nigel in my office, and was pleased to see he hadn't made a mess of the space. Andrea sat at her desk, and I couldn't keep myself from looking over at her.

"You could have told me."

I looked up at Nigel. "What?" What on earth was he talking about.

"I see how you're looking at her," he said with a smirk.

"Oh, uh, I don't know what you're talking about," I said, turning away from him to hide my blush.

"Don't hurt her," he said.

My eyes shot up at him. Why did everyone assume I would be the one to do the hurting? Was it because I was older? Because no one expects Miranda Priestly to have feelings, to be capable of feeling pain? I didn't say anything in response.

"Do you even see what you're doing?" he asked.

I stared at him, not blinking until he gently shook his head and left my office.

"Andrea, coffee," I said as I pinched the bridge of my nose and turned to the window. I needed to find a way out of this. What had I been thinking the past two weeks? Spending my days lounging in bed with a twenty-something, kissing her and touching her and—god, how could I have been so stupid?

I was an old woman, nearly thirty years her senior. It was an infatuation: there's no other explanation. As the adult in the situation, I should never have let this get so far.

I was shaken from my thoughts when I heard Andrea set the coffee cup on my desk. Spinning around, I met her eyes—warm and concerned, begging to know what I was thinking, if I was okay.

I swallowed. My throat was suddenly dry and I couldn't find the words.

"Is everything okay?" she mouthed.

I nodded and turned back to the window so she wouldn't see the tears in my eyes. _Everything_ was okay, but I was not. I knew what I needed to do, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I cared about that young woman, and more importantly, she cared about me—more than I had been willing to acknowledge.

I took a deep breath. _Pull yourself together, Miranda._ My sunglasses perched on my nose, I gathered my phone and bag, marching out of the office and straight for the elevators. Andrea scurried behind me, but I before she could catch up, I said, "Stay here and see what Nigel or Emily need."

She stopped in her tracks, stunned, but rightfully so. I stepped onto the elevator and once the doors closed, I desperately missed her presence. I would have never imagined that it would be this difficult.

Riding alone back to the townhouse, I realized this was the most time I'd spent alone in weeks. I felt an ache—not in my back, but in my heart. My phone was ringing—it was Nigel. I silenced the ringer and tucked it in my purse.

I woke several hours later, curled up on the couch, with crust in the corner of my eye. Andrea was sitting on the floor next to the couch, and my hand found its way to her, fingers gently running through her hair.

"Andrea? What are you doing here?" I said, pulling my hand away and pushing myself to a seated position.

"Do you not want me here?" she asked. "I want to be here. I thought I made that clear."

"But you don't belong here. You and I—it won't work. I have to return to the magazine, and it just won't work. I will hurt you, and it will be a mess. Best to walk away now," I said.

"Good god, what did Nigel say to you?" she asked.

My conversation with Nigel was none of her business. And what did she know about the words I shared with him?

"Miranda, I know you were holding back tears in your office, and I am positive that your back wasn't causing you pain. Please, talk to me," she said, reaching her hand out and squeezing mine.

I knew I should pull away, but she was so warm, and it felt so good. She got up from the floor and sat next to me on the couch, holding my hand with her left hand and gently stroking my back with her right.

"What's going on in that beautiful head of yours?" she whispered.

I squeezed her hand in response. "You are too good, sweetheart," I said.

"I don't understand."

"Have you ever read _Middlemarch_ —the last few paragraphs of the book?"

She shook her head.

"Read it someday. You'll see what I mean," I said.

"No, that's not fair. You can't just throw this 'someday' shit at me! Miranda, what did Nigel say to you?" she demanded.

I pulled my hands away and folded my arms across my chest. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does," she said, getting up and heading towards the door. I froze—was she leaving? Was this it?

"Where is your phone?" she muttered, finally finding it in my purse. "Look," she said, holding it up proudly. "Nigel has been trying to get in touch with you. Whatever he said, obviously didn't have the intended effect!"

"What Nigel and I spoke about is none of your business," I said.

"Except when it concerns me! Nigel is the one who convinced me to come back to you after you sent me away. He cares about me, and wants to see me happy. I know he would never tell you to hurt me like this," she said.

I closed my eyes for a moment. He did tell me not to hurt her—but wasn't he saying that I should end it, whatever "it" was? Could it be that I had misinterpreted what he said this afternoon?

I snatched the phone from her hands and saw four missed calls from Nigel, as well as a few text messages: _Call me immediately. Don't do anything stupid. Call me. What are you doing to her?_

I brought my hand to cover my mouth, and hopefully prevent an anguished cry from escaping my lips. I certainly didn't deserve her forgiveness, but I could see in her eyes that I already had it.

She took me in her arms and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"Miranda, I love you," she said. I didn't know how to respond to that—saying something like "I love you, too," seemed to cliche and insincere, but not responding at all was worse. I opened my mouth to reply and she pressed a finger to my lips. "You don't have to say anything," she whispered, replacing her finger with her lips.

What began as a chaste peck on the lips transformed into a soul-penetrating kiss. I really felt as though I needed her to survive. She was my breath, my air—I physically needed to hold her, to secure myself to this woman who was my foundation.

Somehow, we ended up in our underwear on the carpet in my living room, clothes discarded on the couch. My arm was wrapped around her waist, my hand softly resting on the swell of her hips. She reached for my hand and guided it farther down, under the lacy band of her lingerie, through her wet curls. She squeezed my hand before letting go and tracing her fingers along my chest.

I allowed my fingers to travel further, plunging into her slick, hot folds. Her eyes fluttered and her body arched into my touch. Every cliche'd analogy seemed fitting at this moment: I played her body like an instrument, like a puppeteer holding the strings and pulling just the right ones. Just when I thought she couldn't be a more beautiful creature, she threw her head back, brunette tresses cascading down to the floor, a lovely carnelian flush sweeping up her chest.

"Oh god…Miranda," she cried.

"Darling, words cannot describe how incredible you are," I whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek and trailing my lips down her neck.

She fell asleep there on the living room floor. My hand was nestled between her legs, securing me to her very being. The heat radiating from her body kept the shiver from traveling across my skin. I kissed her shoulder, then her cheek, gently waking her up.

"Andrea, darling," I whispered. "Darling, let's go upstairs."

* * *

I laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling. I should have been exhausted, but somehow I was wide awake. Perhaps it had something to do with the beautiful creature curled up on the bed next to me. Though I had never been with a woman like that before, it didn't seem to matter, if Andrea's reaction was anything to go by.

My back had been feeling better over the past few weeks, but I don't think the time spent on the floor of the living room helped. Actually, I was quite sure it is what caused the pain in my back that I hadn't felt for weeks.

I was pulled from my thoughts when the woman next to me woke with a jump.

"Good morning," I said, brushing her arm and smiling. "Did you sleep well?"

She nodded and smiled. "What time is it?"

I shook my head. For once in my life, I didn't care.

"I'm hungry," she said. "For food," she added with a smirk.

As if on cue, my stomach churned. "Apparently I am hungry," I said.

"I have a taste for barbecue, like brisket or pulled pork. With some cornbread," she said. "Doesn't that sound good?"

I raised my eyebrow. "Is this an Ohio thing?" I asked. "I don't think they have cornbread in Manhattan."

Andrea laughed and pressed a kiss to my collarbone. "Don't worry, I won't let _Page Six_ know that you went all over the city looking for cornbread for your gir—just looking for cornbread." She pressed another kiss to my chest and muttered "sorry" against my skin.

"You don't have to apologize," I said.

"I didn't mean to say that. I don't want you to think I'm saying that or anything. It's just—I like what we have, when you aren't changing your mind about your life and all that," she said.

"Andrea, it is I who am sorry. I was horrible. You deserve better than that."

"You need to stop taking everything so seriously. Stop making it such a big deal," she said.

"Andrea," I warned. I could feel my blood thrumming through my veins, and not in a good way. "Don't tell me what to do. Don't tell me to stop. This is who I am, take it or leave."

The young woman groaned and propped herself up on her elbow, reaching her other hand down to cup my cheek. "Okay, noted. I would appreciate it," she clarified, "if you came to me and we had a discussion before you make sweeping decisions. I know you're you. I am not asking you to change, not really. If we're going to keep this up, though, it will be really exhausting."

"You want to keep this up?" I asked.

"Of course," she said in surprise. "Did you think I didn't want to?"

"No, no, I just…well, I wasn't sure."

Andrea rolled her eyes. "You're obnoxious and I love you," she said, kissing me.

After a few minutes she pulled away. "What?"

"How is your back?" she asked.

I frowned. I don't know how she was able to see through me so well. "It's a little sore, but I think I will just try to rest a little tonight."

Andrea smiled and kissed me on the cheek before crawling out of bed. "I'll bring you something for it," she said.

When she returned, I saw she had brought my prescription muscle relaxer and I was actually relieved. I didn't know how much more of this conversation I would be able to bear. Despite everything she tells me, I find it difficult to believe that she actually wants to spend time with me, that she wants a relationship with an old woman like me. I could only hope she gets bored quickly and doesn't drag this out too much.

I felt Andrea's arm wrap across my waist, and before I got too far ahead of myself, I fell asleep.

* * *

The following day, though I had slept over twelve hours, I did not feel rested. In fact, I was unsettled. I wanted to believe what Andrea was saying to me. I wanted to believe that she actually loved me and that she wanted to embark upon a complicated relationship. I wanted to…but I knew that I shouldn't. No one wants to be in a relationship with me once they get to know me. It just seemed Andrea needed more convincing.

"Ooh!" I jumped. Andrea came up behind me and kissed my neck, just below my ear. "Darling, what's going on?"

She spun me around and pulled me close, pressing a kiss to my lips. "I owe you."

"What?" I was confused.

"For yesterday. It was ah-ma-zing, but now, it's your turn," she said, grinning as she grabbed my ass through my cotton lounge pants.

I gasped. Just thinking of her touching me, stroking me, inside me, sucking me…my mouth went dry and I was unable to speak.

"I'll take that look as a 'yes,'" she said with a devilish grin. "Now, I've always wanted to have you here, in the kitchen, maybe on that marble island, but with your back and all I want you to be comfortable, so, upstairs?"

When I didn't respond, she loosened her grip and cupped my cheek, her eyes asking if everything was okay. I couldn't deny that I really did want this, so I just smiled and nodded, leaning forward to kiss her softly.

She took my hand and led me upstairs, where she had apparently been preparing a rather romantic scene. There were candles and soft music, and two short silk robes draped across the bed.

I felt her hands on my hips, her soft fingers working their way beneath my shirt, gently sliding it upwards until it could go no further. Instead of asking me to take it off, I felt her fingertips dancing across my abdomen. I didn't particularly like being touched there—I felt fat, like I had never had a flat stomach since my daughters were born. But somehow, and I know I shouldn't have been surprised, Andrea's touch was incredibly tender. I almost got the sense that she was just happy to be touching any part of me, that she saw past the extra girth and…

I shook my head and gently pushed her hands away. I was getting carried away. "I need to use the bathroom," I said in excuse. I reached down for the sapphire silk robe. "Shall I?" I asked, gesturing towards the bathroom.

"Yes," she said. "I'll be waiting for you."

I took longer than necessary in the bathroom, but eventually emerged to find her sitting on the bed with her legs bent, spread wide.

It was as though I was on autopilot after that. I don't recall consciously making any further decisions. Not to kneel before her, not to taste her, not to crawl on top of her and certainly not to grind myself against her hip.

She flipped us over so I was on my back and kissed me, gently at first, but then so thoroughly that I awoke from my trancelike state. "Miranda, you are so incredible," she whispered. Her hand fumbled with the tie on my robe—apparently I had knotted it and she couldn't get it undone.

She shook her head and kissed me again, this time sliding her right hand beneath the robe and parting the lapels with her left. Her lips trailed down my chest as her fingers found my warmth. My eyes were closed tightly as I arched into her touch, into her lips.

I whimpered when she plunged her fingers in my wetness. I was so wet and her fingers were so slender and…long. She curled them and twisted and pumped in and out while my hips leapt off the bed. She was touching me everywhere except where I needed it most. When at last she thrusted three fingers inside me, she held them there, moving the palm of her hand ever so gently against my sensitive bud while she whispered that she loved me.

I gasped and my eyes shot open. I was so close. All it would take now was just a little—I froze and reached down for her wrist, pulling her hand away.

"What?! Miranda, what's wrong?"

"Don't you see? This—this isn't going to work," I said. "If you just want to fuck each other for a while, I think we could do that, but—"

I was cut off when she rammed her hand inside me, crushing my clitoris against her palm and sending shock waves through my body.

As I was trying to catch my breath, she pulled her hand out from my body and ran to the bathroom. I tried to imagine what this would look like if we were only having sex, and my mind was drawing a blank. I imagined that over time, we'd figure it out. It wasn't going to last anyway. I straightened out my robe and covered my body.

"Miranda, please," she said, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed. "I don't understand why you keep thinking that this isn't going to work, that I can't possibly love you or want a relationship with you. I know you've been treated miserably by your partners in the past, but please, can we try it first? I love you. You are everything to me. If I misinterpreted and you're not interested, then tell me now. If this is just about sex for you, I can't do it."

I thought about what she said. The more I thought, the more arguments I came up with in my mind for either side. It didn't make sense, but it felt right. It was totally cliche, but my heart said yes and my mind said no. It wouldn't be pretty, but…if it was worth it in the end, did it really matter how we got there?

I heard the door shut and suddenly realized Andrea was gone. I don't know how long it had been, but apparently, she took my silence as an answer. I quickly climbed off the bed and followed the sounds downstairs, hoping to catch her before she left.

"Andrea," I called from the base of the stairs.

She stopped and turned around, her eyes focused on the ground. Her hair was down, and she turned her head so her hair would block her face from my view.

"I love you," I said. Once the words were out of my mouth, I suddenly felt lighter. "I am still not sure this is a good idea, but I want to try this with you. I take a little longer than most to make a decision," I explained. "But when I do, I don't back down. You can't change your mind in a month on me."

The young woman looked up and smiled, dropping her bag and running over to wrap her arms around me. "I understand. I won't change my mind," she said.

"Good," I said. "Because darling, you were absolutely phenomenal and I want to feel that every day of my life. Do you think you can manage?"

"Do I ever!" she said.

She kissed me and my fears slowly melted away. I was beginning to think that my backache was the absolute best thing that had ever happened to me.

.

.

.

The End

* * *

A/N: Let me know what you thought of this. I am really sorry I wasn't able to develop it any further, but I felt I at least owed it to all you wonderful people to wrap it up with a nice pretty (smutty) bow. Now that I'm in school I don't think I will be able to write much-and if I do, it will most likely be one-shots, not continuing stories. All the best! xo


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